Famine 35: Fissure of Life

Fissure of Life

“Bold spirit!” Sha Tong slapped the table. “A toast to you!”

Zhong Manwen smiled and raised her cup. “To you as well.”

“We comrades have risked life and limb together. I’m getting on in years, my strength isn’t what it was. That I can still use my life to open up new opportunities for us, that is my good fortune.”

After a brief moment of worry, Tang Qinghuai quickly came to understand his mother’s decision. His eyes sparkled as he gazed at her, filled with the fierce pride of “As expected of you,” and when he glanced at the farm owner, his face was alight with sincere admiration.

At that thought, he suddenly recalled the farm master’s instructions and hurriedly asked:
“Senior Brother Li, where are our explosive materials now? Is it possible to pass them over?”

At these words, Li Shize’s shoulders sagged. Weary, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have them,” he replied dully.

“Not long after you left, Gu Haoping came and confiscated everything. The condition for awarding me that damned [Official Certification] was that I hand over all the materials, which he then centralized under his control. He doles out a small amount to me at intervals, and I must deliver on schedule according to his terms. Every batch is limited in quantity and time, and I’m forced to supply everything to the Command Guard at rock-bottom prices.”

Judging by the state Li Shize was in, half his life spent at the lab bench, the delivery deadlines must have been brutal.

Tang Qinghuai’s hands shook in indignation. “That’s outrageous!”

“He’s done the same to all of us,” Sha Tong said darkly, cold laughter in his voice. “All the special materials unique to [Certified] players—he’s gathered them up, every last bit, keeping it all under his own control.”

“Uncertified players scramble desperately to get certified, while certified players have to risk everything just for the chance to work for him… That’s Gu Haoping’s method.”

Sha Tong added, “Our plan for tonight had been to raid the Command Guard warehouse for winter clothes and food.”
“But there are so many storage depots—we can’t promise what we’ll find…”

So that’s the situation. Si Zhiyan listened quietly from the side, sipping his coffee.

[Farm Main Quest: Feed Them (3)]
[Quest Description: Raise the farm’s satiation level to 50% within fifteen days.]
[Failure Penalty: Become food (stewed)]

In other words, if they wanted explosive supplies and to complete the main quest, they had to deal with Gu Haoping.

—That man would simply have to die.

Seeing everyone’s spirits sag, Zhong Manwen smiled gently to reassure them. “At least the urgent food shortage is solved for now, so we need not rush quite so much.”

“So what should we do next? We’re still short on people, and facing the Command Guard head-on would be unwise. The right course may be to expand our strength as best we can…”

Everyone began heatedly discussing the plan ahead.

Sha Tong, though a veteran captain with strong leadership, was more accustomed to following orders than devising strategy. When it came down to the nuts and bolts of struggle, he didn’t really excel.

Zhong Manwen, on the other hand—older and wiser, with a few well-chosen words, could cut to the heart of the situation. Each of her suggestions was incisive, quickly earning everyone’s respect and admiration.

Si Zhiyan sat at the head of the farm table, legs crossed, silently watching it all.

He was not surprised.

From first laying eyes on Tang Qinghuai, Si Zhiyan had understood—anyone who could raise such a person was no ordinary parent.

He disliked speaking, his social anxiety severe. But that very trait allowed him, in silence, to observe more than most.

Sitting quietly in the midst of the crowd, he was like one hovering above the world, calmly studying each person.

Leaving behind the awkward bewilderment of his first arrival in this world, Si Zhiyan was beginning to grow used to such feelings. His body sat at the table’s front, his spirit hanging high above the stage, coffee in hand, watching as people went about their work, watching the gears of fate mesh and part, the world trundling ever forward.

Humans are not so different from programs. Each bears their own faith and courage, treading many paths toward one common goal—

To survive, and survive well.

Whoever stands against that goal is their enemy.

And Si Zhiyan needed only, at key moments, to nudge the gears of fate ever so slightly.

Zhong Manwen was saying: “For now, our strength is insufficient and we lack many things. Fortunately, the most crucial issue—food—has been temporarily resolved…”

“Not only food,” Si Zhiyan interjected.

At the sound of his cool voice, everyone’s shoulders stiffened. They did not dare relax, and hurriedly turned toward the farm master.

Si Zhiyan sat straight-backed in his black coat, hands folded on his knees, smiling faintly as he articulated the speech he’d prepared.

There was still a hint of awkward slowness in his voice—but already a hint of mastery, confidence in hand.

“Many of the supply players who have left are now at the farm… I can provide what you need.”

“My farm is open to business, welcoming guests from all around. All are welcome.”

—Naturally, including those who are not customers yet.

“Do you have winter clothes as well?”

“At a good price.”

Exactly what they needed most on Bone Ferry, and what was in greatest shortage.

Tang Qinghuai immediately sat up straight.

No one knew better than he did the predicament facing the supply players near the farm.
Such a spatial fissure was a lifeline!

Zhong Manwen drew a deep, excited breath, at a loss for words. She gave a deep bow and said softly, “Thank you, farm master.”

“There are no words to express the depth of your kindness… We can only do our utmost to repay you.”

“We’ll bring you as many customers as we can—if that is your wish.”

…

That afternoon, Si Zhiyan traveled to the supply players’ settlement, leaving behind news of upcoming orders.

“If it won’t affect previous orders, do you still have the capacity to supply new winter clothing?” he asked in a low voice.

Li Cui’e was nearly blinded by the stroke of good fortune, instantly guaranteeing, “You can rest assured—there is absolutely no problem!”

“I hadn’t dared to hire too many workers before, in case the business didn’t last long. But now, if you need, we can easily ramp up production!”

In just a few short days, Li Cui’e had erected a massive tented workshop: teams organized assembly-line style filled every corner. She bustled through the facility, calling her daughter to draw up labor rosters and expand the workforce, mapping plans left and right.

Meanwhile, with help from Lin Qiushui and company, Tang Qinghuai began to collect information.

The supply players lined up in snaking queues, eyes bright with anticipation.

The blacksmith elbowed his way to the front, scrawled his name, his wares, and prices, filling out Tang Qinghuai’s form with utmost care.

“Will there really be orders?” he asked, rubbing his hands, grinning wide. “Will we really be able to earn our meals now?”

Lin Qiushui laughed. “Think—why could you sell things before, and now you can’t? Did your skills vanish overnight?”

“Of course not! What nonsense, my hands are as good as ever!” the blacksmith shouted back, hope restored, and left with a beaming smile.

The next day, throughout the Bone Ferry, a secret rumor began to spread.

In a certain mysterious wooden cabin, there was a special forbidden place.

Whenever the sun set, a fissure in time and space would open. Through the overlapping cracks of reality, you could glimpse a farm master veiled behind clouds and mist.

Tell him your need, and so long as you could pay the price, he was nigh-omnipotent.

At first, the rumor was passed quietly among the supply players.

“Sis, did you know? There’s a place you can buy food—real food, not cursed!”
A man, hungry for days and busy, bit into a tomato meat roll, tears springing to his eyes as he devoured it with bliss.

“I came specially to tell you—come with me after sunset!”

And after that, among the qualified players, a few began quietly to line their coats with new fleece.
When the fighting came, they feared neither wind nor cold, displaying unmatched bravery.

When no one else was around, a teammate peered at his collar. “Old Ghost, with winter gear in such short supply, where’d you get this?”

“Want some?” Old Ghost glanced around, lowered his voice and whispered, “You’re my most trusted friend, so I’ll tell you—I heard it from someone else…”

One passed news to two, two to four.

More and more word spread, person to person, weaving out like a spiderweb until it enmeshed the whole of Bone Ferry.

Good food! Firestarters! Blades and armor!

Supply player or fighter, everyone was filled with common elation, helping one another, slipping quietly past patrols in waves to that legendary underground market.

And so, hidden in an unremarkable wooden hut, a lifeline opened, silent and vital.

Countless orders and requests flew in like snow; the most crucial supplies trickled out to those in urgent need.

The supply players’ settlement, too, burst into hectic, joyful activity.

The blacksmith soon had no time to sulk. Every day, stripped to the waist, he hammered metal till his arms blurred, his hammer swinging faster than ever.

Si Zhiyan sat at the fissure’s mouth, half his figure shrouded in cloud and mist, overseeing, coordinating, selling food—just as he promised, welcoming guests from every direction.

Beyond daily sales, there was another delightful surprise.

As more qualified players became clients, sales of [Coffee] and [Ice Cream] and other functional foods soared.

“It really works! This stuff is magic!!”
An excited qualified player dove in from the doorway, desperately clinging to the rift even as it burned him, tears nearly falling.
“Milk reduces bleeding, plain coffee removes fatigue; after an all-day fight with the anomalies, I finally finished that damned nail mission!”

“I was stuck on a quest for a whole week! Thought I’d lose my badge and starve to death!”

“Thank you, farm master, thank you! You’re my savi—mff gugu gugu…”

Sha Tong yanked him aside by the collar like a chicken, “Get out of the way—don’t disrupt business. You want to thank the farm master, get in line for a thank-you note!”

Si Zhiyan: “……”
Thank goodness for the mist, or I’d die of secondhand embarrassment.

Please, I beg you, don’t actually send thank-you letters.

That night’s takings, naturally, were extraordinary.

One day, two days, three, four, five…

Time moved on.

To avoid the Command Guard’s scrutiny, the fissure to the farm opened only after sunset. Each night, Sha Tong and company took Zhong Manwen across the streets and alleys, constantly changing location within the Bone Ferry.

They were the Ferry’s most loyal children—no one knew it better.

Ever more people gazed longingly outward, waiting for news of that lifeline fissure.

Many on the brink of death survived by the farm; many seemingly hopeless problems slipped away unnoticed, quietly resolved.

Gradually, in the eyes of many, the [Farm] became an immortal spiritual sanctuary.

The slip of paper with the farm’s coordinates that Si Zhiyan had casually left on his first visit was now treasured as a holy relic. Passed from hand to hand, carefully preserved, copied over and over, every stroke memorized by heart.

Players failing their quotas no longer dreaded the day of reckoning.
In the dead of night, they would clutch those coordinates, wrapped in blankets, facing one another cross-legged. Amid the steam-filled tents, clutching warm tomato soup, they would talk in excited voices of new lives soon to begin at the farm, firelight reflected in shining eyes.

Meanwhile, Gu Haoping’s Command Guard patrolled in the freezing wind, strutting before any “insufficiently loyal” supply player, barking threats at rulebreakers.

—Of course, they disdained to enter those filthy tents.

They noticed none of this, for the Guard never patrolled at night. Gu Haoping held people with his power and Nie Du’s old nutrition paste, but could provide neither winter gear nor blankets once available from his own supply players. On merciless, howling nights, his men could do nothing but rest.

At midnight, the guards chewed their cold, tasteless paste, wrapped in thin coats, recalling with pride the day’s bullying, before drifting to sleep in the icy dark.

Soon enough, as expected, the second elimination list for quotas was posted.

One cold morning, Gu Haoping spent over half an hour choking down cold nutrition paste as usual. With his longstanding poor health, each meal was torture—a seven-year norm he was perversely grateful to endure.

Then, he began his work.

The first item: with his fully armed Guard, drive the failed supply players off the Ferry.

Those who failed Divine Farm’s mission were like spent cattle. He had to gather the old, sick, and weak, drive them together like livestock. Some would cry or grovel, clinging to their things. For such moments, the whip had to come down, keep them in line, force them to submission.

“There’s no point resisting—you don’t have it in you. No point pleading; you’ll find no mercy here.”
Gu Haoping stood with hands clasped behind his back at the bridge, his tone icy.
“Either complete your Divine Farm Mission, or accept the fate you deserve.”

“That is all there is for you now.”

But this time—

Those cattle-like supply players didn’t need herding. They gathered on the bridge by themselves. Huddling together, whispering to one another, their packs slung behind them. Their faces were healthy, even spirited; there was no sorrow, no wailing, even … a hint of happiness?

When Gu Haoping finished speaking, some even turned to look him up and down with a strange expression—assessing him, as if he were some kind of idiot.

Gu Haoping’s eyebrows shot up—before he could speak again, the blood tide before him receded.

The blood sea vanished, time was up.

The new captain, Yang by name, cracked his whip and shouted: “That’s it! Out with you, failures! Don’t come back!”

“Oh!!” The supply players departed in high spirits.

Gu Haoping: ???

What the hell just happened??

Even after the supply players vanished into specks on the horizon, the Guard stood shell-shocked, none able to explain what they’d seen.

Gu Haoping quickly sensed gaps in his control. He absently stroked his worn revolver, [Screaming Deathbone], pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “Xiao Yang.”

“Here!” the new captain replied, eager.

Gu Haoping’s tone was dark. “Hand out an extra tube of nutrition paste tonight, and work some overtime. I want you to find out… what exactly is going on at night.”